Corry PA

While Chris was one hundred and fifty miles northeast enjoying the much-hyped Finger Lakes of central New York, I was enjoying the perfectly fine Kinzus Beach at the confluence of the Allegheny River and Kinzu Creek across the border into Pennsylvania. It was a lake thanks to the Kinzu Dam three miles down river. It was a perfect day for the first swim of these travels with the temperature reaching 90 for the first time since I set out over five weeks ago.

I had to make do with the refreshing water of the lake to cool me as the rest rooms and drinking fountain were not in operation.  But I was able to fill my water bottles thanks to a young man from Toledo traveling with his wife and two children who had water to spare.  

I had to step daintily on the pebbles into the lake, as there was no sand, not even in the lake.  It had actually been given a concrete base that was slimy and slick.  The beach came at about the half way point of a fifty-mile stretch between Carnegies in Bradford and Corry through the Allegency State Forest.  I almost thought I was out west, where I’m accustomed to such prolonged rides through thick forests, particularly as I rode a steep two-mile climb up to a somewhat cool 2,200 foot plateau.  


It was backcountry cycling with long stretches between amenities.  I stopped at an antique store with a sign saying everything sixty per cent off hoping it might have some cold drinks.  No luck, but I could at least sit on the porch in the shade on a bench from a one-room schoolhouse.  The proprietor, an older woman who’d started the business in 1967 and was trying to sell it, joined me.  She apologized for not wearing a mask, saying it was too hot and if we kept our distance we’d been fine.  She said there’d only been fifteen cases of the virus in the county, so I shouldn’t feel concerned.

My final miles in New York had been equally rustic and western, providing deluxe forest camping.  I pitched my tent near a lagoon.  The mosquitoes weren’t a factor, but the frogs croaked all night, finally letting up with the dawn.  A couple ticks found there way into the tent.  I had been spared them with Chris,  as he is a tick-magnet, finding a few nearly every night in his tent. One attached himself to the back of my arm.  I had to wait until I found a restroom mirror to be able to grab him with my tweezers.  When I opened my shirt a giant one was crawling on the front side of my arm, easily flicked away.

My final Carnegie in New York, in Salamanca, was vacant and on its way to becoming a ruin.  It was vacated in 1967, replaced by a featureless building that had been a grocery store. The books had been transported in a large community effort by a battalion of shopping carts the mile from the old library to the new including crossing over the Allegheny River.  It may be the only Carnegie on an Indian Reservation.  About twenty per cent of Salamanca’s six thousand residents are Native American.  Everyone rents from the tribe, including the library.

The new library had a sign saying it was open from eleven to one and three to seven.  I arrived at 2:30.  I was down to fifteen per cent on my iPad, so was in need of at least an hour of charging, preferably two.  I sought out the Carnegie and some chocolate milk at the Sav-A-Lot and got back to the library shortly after it reopened.  All the chairs were upside down on the tables and the librarian said there was no lingering, a bust.  

At least the local McDonald’s had indoor dining, she said, and I should be able to charge there. That was a success, but I learned from Joel the next day that was my last chance to sit inside at a McDonald’s, as it’s restaurants were going to withdraw dining in for at least three weeks, a big bummer especially with it getting hot. So it may be Burger King henceforth, if it doesn’t follow suit.  I much prefer McDonald’s, as it is a Chicago-based company, while Burger King is Canadien joining up with Tim Horton in 2014.  Plus McDonald’s generally has stronger WiFi and a cheaper chicken sandwich, though the same four hundred calories.  My favor for McDonald’s was rewarded a few days ago when I found a McDonald’s credit card along the road with fifteen dollars on it—two weeks worth of McChickens. 

The Carnegie in Franklinville, still in New York preceding the one in Salamanca, bore the name of Blount, but had all the dignity of a Carnegie.  It was only offering curbside pickup at its rear addition.

The first Carnegie back in Pennsylvania in Bradford, gloriously identified itself as a Carnegie Public Library and Free to All in bold large letters.  It had been turned into a restaurant and was adorned with two large flags.

Corry too fifty miles west had transformed its Carnegie into a restaurant.  It was hopping with activity when I arrived in the early evening.

It was more of a diner than Bradford’s with people on the porch and inside among the stacks of books. 

Yesterday’s heat and climbing had sapped my energy. At eleven I took a break in the shade under a tree and slept for four hours, something I had never done before. I thought I just needed a nap of thirty minutes or so, but kept waking and going back to sleep for a little more.  I was across the street from a convenience store and thought someone might come over and check on me, but evidently my bike and the tree shielded me. A stack of hot cakes was partially to blame for my lethargy, a much needed hearty meal.